How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

The sudden realization of the truth left Elodie silent for a long moment. "Is that so? But are you honestly saying you feel nothing for Sylvie? People's feelings aren't carved in stone. Everyone saw how close you were. The day I got my diagnosis, you were with her, setting off fireworks for her birthday."

Even on her own birthday, Jarrod had been with Sylvie, lighting up the sky.

"That day was her birthday, yes," Jarrod replied, meeting her eyes, "but it was also our wedding anniversary. Ivan was about to get out of prison around that time. I figured you'd forgotten-I thought maybe you'd remember."

The truth was, he'd been upset that day. Ivan was due to be released the very next day after their anniversary.

"The thought of Ivan getting out already had me on edge. You never used to forget our anniversary, but that year you didn't mention it at all. I guess I read too much into it." His voice was raw, every hidden, unflattering thought tumbling out, no longer able to disguise the sting he'd kept inside.

And then, out of nowhere, Elodie had asked for a divorce.

Deep down, he'd always known. He'd always sensed it.

He'd been picking fights with her for ages now. Even the fireworks that night had nothing to do with Sylvie.

Elodie stared off, lost for a moment, remembering how she'd felt back then, and suddenly she understood Jarrod's bitterness. That showy fireworks display wasn't a celebration at all—it was a silent accusation, a desperate plea for her to care, for her to remember their anniversary, to remember him.

But...

barely keep myself together, let alone find the energy to celebrate anything. You were hardly ever home. Do you really think I had the strength to care about an anniversary?"

Jarrod had been gone so much

a heartbeat, Jarrod's lashes

he was back

him out of her life for Ivan,

she was suffering, not from love

wanted to ask her how she was, to stand by her side. Maybe,

"Stop torturing yourself," she said. "Take your medicine and try to get some

admit it-having her around was my way of trying to make you notice me. It was pathetic, I know. I wasn't completely rational, emotionally. But Elodie, you never

word slow and heavy, each one landing with a

some reason,

a wound all at once. Maybe it wasn't about forgetting or healing. Maybe it was just about

were both proud, both

wrong, guilt and innocence-who could

Jarrod let her go.

down on the bed, and said, "I've been

"Of course, if you feel sorry for me and want to